


The Motivation

by MaxWrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Mind Games, Non Consensual, Parent/Child Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-22
Updated: 2009-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco isn't sure he's cut out to do the things that Death Eaters do. But anyone can do anything with the right motivation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Motivation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [HP Prisonfest](http://hp_prisonerfest.livejournal.com) '09.

There weren't many places in the Manor where one could escape the screaming. It carried up from the dungeon, reverberated off the walls, came up through the vents. The only place that was truly quiet was on the top floor inside the old dumb waiter that no one used anymore. Draco learned this many years ago when he was much smaller. Sounds from the dungeon just didn't seem to reach that one particular spot. Of course Draco was eighteen now and far too big to fit inside the dumb waiter.

It hadn't always been this big of a problem. The sex parties had only started happening regularly a few months ago. When Draco was younger the dungeon had been used for much smaller gatherings, a few Death Eaters meeting in secret. But now that the Dark Lord was back in power and Mudbloods and blood traitors everywhere had been enslaved, Malfoy Manor had become one of the Death Eaters' headquarters. Weekly meetings took place there. Death Eaters brought their very best slaves to show off and use and pass around to the others. They brought their very worst slaves, the ones who hadn't figured out it was in their best interests to be obedient, to be tortured and humiliated. Not that the good slaves weren't tortured and humiliated, but Draco knew the bad ones got it much, much worse.

Draco was supposed to enjoy all this. He was supposed to be down there right now with the other Death Eaters using and abusing the slaves. He was supposed to be down there right now at his father's side, learning new things and becoming a better master. Instead he was upstairs in his bedroom, pacing and trying not to listen, trying not to recognise any of the voices he heard screaming and crying and begging for mercy.

Instead he was up here casting angry glances at Weasley, who was naked and tied by his ankles and wrists to Draco's bed with his arms and legs splayed, staring stony-faced at the ceiling.

Draco wasn't even sure he found Weasley attractive. He'd never admit it if he did, of course, but how could he do what he was supposed to do to someone he wasn't attracted to? He supposed Weasley was attractive in a way. He was tall and slender, had pretty blue eyes, and his hair had grown out a bit, giving him a shaggy look that Draco liked but would never admit to liking. He had a handsome face, Draco supposed; straight, pointed nose, a strong chin. And Draco couldn't help but be a little intrigued by the flaming thatch of hair at his crotch. But it was more of a morbid fascination. It was just odd, having red hair down there. Draco wasn't turned on by Weasley's body in the slightest. Weasley had been pretty scrawny to begin with, and his imprisonment had only worsened that. Draco could see his ribs now and his collarbones jutted out rather grotesquely. It was just unattractive.

"Are you going to do this, or aren't you?"

Draco stopped pacing and glared at his prisoner. "Shut it, Weasleby," he snarled.

"You've been pacing for over half an hour."

"That's my business," Draco muttered as he continued to pace.

Draco heard Weasley snort. "Still chicken, huh? Shoulda known. You don't have the bollocks."

Draco gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

"I knew it. All this time, all those years at school with you, I knew you were all talk."

"Shut up, Weasley," Draco muttered.

"Just trying to follow in Daddy's footsteps. Trying to act like some big, bad Death Eater, trying to impress him."

Draco silently seethed and continued pacing.

"He doesn't even notice you, does he?" Weasley taunted. "He didn't even come up to get you this time because he knows you'd just chicken out and embarrass him again. May as well join our fight, Malfoy, join the Muggle-borns and blood traitors. You're no Death Eater. Practically one of us, you are."

"SHUT UP!" Draco bellowed, finally stopping and looking at Weasley again. Weasley was smirking at him.

"You're pathetic," said Weasley. "I thought you were going along with all this because you feared for your life. But it's just because of _him_ , innit? Daddy's approval, that's what you want."

Draco advanced on him and was upon him in two long strides, up onto the bed, on all fours, hovering over him. He took Weasley by the throat with one hand and squeezed. "You don't think I can fuck you up, Weasley? Hm? You're really not afraid of what I can do to you?"

"No," Weasley croaked, and despite the fact his face was turning red, he smirked at Draco again. Draco snarled unintelligibly at him. He grabbed Weasley's throat with both hands now and squeezed even harder, shaking him a bit.

"Oh, I can hurt you," Draco whispered, voice shaking a bit from his effort. "I can fucking hurt you." After a while Draco's hands began shaking and it looked like Weasley was going to pass out. Well, that wouldn't do. Draco needed him awake for this.

With a cry of frustration, Draco released Weasley's neck and pushed away from him. He was up on his feet and pacing again as Weasley coughed and wheezed.

"I knew it," said Weasley, his voice raspy. "Fucking pussy."

"You just wait," said Draco. "You just wait until my father gets up here."

"What, so he can finish what you couldn't?" Weasley laughed bitterly. "Oh, I'm sure that'll go over well. Daddy'll be so proud of you, leaving your dirty work to him."

Draco stopped and glared at him again, amazed and confused and, frankly, annoyed at Weasley's attitude. "What, have you got some kind of death wish or something?" Perhaps that was exactly it. Weasley had been growing more and more erratic. He'd be sullen and quiet and completely pliant one moment, surly and defiant and dangerously mouthy the next. He taunted them while he was beaten. He laughed through his tears while he was raped.

Draco shuddered and looked away again. He resumed his pacing and tried not to think about such things.

"Just get it over with," Weasley said, suddenly sounding dejected. Draco glanced at him; he'd turned his face away and was staring off at nothing, expressionless. "Dunno what your problem is, really. I've practically given you the go-ahead about a million times already."

"What, you _want_ me to fuck you?"

"No. But nothing you can do to me could possibly be worse than what I've already been through."

Draco shuddered again at the memories of what he'd seen. "I can't do it if you're going to _let_ me," he said. "That's not how it works."

"Well, you can't do it against my will either. You've proven that."

Draco's jaw muscles twitched. "You don't know what I'm capable of," he muttered. "Fuck this." He spun around and headed for the door.

"Where you going, Drakey? Can't handle the truth? Running away, off to find Mummy?"

Draco ignored him and burst out into the corridor. He slammed the door behind him, making sure it was locked, and the corridor was plunged into darkness. He stood there for a moment, hearing the noises filtering up from below. He stifled a shudder and headed downstairs.

As he neared the dungeon, the crack of a whip could be heard over and over, its sharp, crisp impact mingling with the cries of its victim. Draco tried not to listen too hard, tried to think of something else, sang a little tune in his head, something, anything, but he thought he recognised the voice anyway. It was male, someone from school, but thankfully Draco couldn't remember his name. He wondered if he'd ever even known it. Draco hoped the whip was sounding from within one of the smaller, private rooms and not the large main room. He didn't want to see it.

Through a set of heavy, metal, double doors and Draco was in the dungeon. The room was dimly-lit by cold, bluish light and had couples and groups of bodies, both clothed and not, in every corner. Every bed, chair and apparatus was occupied. As Draco moved through the centre of the room toward the dark hallway that led to the private rooms, he was able to make out faces as he passed by them. He tried to keep his head down, stared at the floor and walked quickly. He couldn't see the whip, but he could still hear it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a pale hand reaching out to him. He couldn't stop himself from glancing at it and he saw the anguished face of someone he recognised, some Gryffindor kid whose name he'd never bothered to learn. Their eyes locked and everything seemed to start moving in slow motion.

He wasn't much younger than Draco, but he was quite a bit smaller, shorter and skinnier, with big eyes that seemed to pierce through the dimness and stab at Draco's heart. His ghostly pale body contrasted sharply against the big, black-clad figure who was holding him on its lap, thick arms wrapped tightly around the boy's torso. They were sitting on a chair together, the kid's legs spread and dangling on either side of his master's (or who Draco assumed was his master) lap, and the figure was using his own legs to keep them spread wide. The figure wore a large hood over his head and the only skin visible was that of his hands and his big, flushed cock, which pumped in and out of the boy's body, the figure's hips thrusting roughly up against the kid.

Draco was near enough that he could distinguish the cries of this boy from those of the others in the room. He was close enough that he could clearly see the terror and pain on the kid's face, he could even see the torn and jagged fingernails of the hand that was so desperately reaching out to him. The kid must've been clawing at his master at some point, or perhaps at the restraints that were used on him at his master's home.

Draco stopped and stared. He knew this kid had only been a year behind him in school, but he looked younger, which only worsened the horrific scene before him. Draco tried to stop his mind from attempting to figure out who this kid was. It didn't matter. There wasn't anything Draco could do. Don't think about it, just keep walking, he told himself. But the more he tried, the more he failed and he couldn't make himself move, and an image swam to the forefront of his mind, an image of this boy in his school robes, a big grin on his young face and a camera in his hands...

The big figure reached down with one hand and took hold of the boy's cock, which Draco realised was hard despite the fact he was being raped, despite the fact he was sobbing. The big, thick-fingered hand began fisting the boy's cock fast, and the boy shut his eyes, causing more tears to spill onto his cheeks. He put his head back and sobbed at the ceiling. He lowered his hand and stopped struggling. He almost went limp as his master continued to fuck him and jerk him off, and Draco saw the man's mouth as he turned his face and whispered something in the boy's ear. Draco couldn't tell what he was saying, but the boy seemed to compose himself somewhat, his expression switching from anguished to almost completely blank. His eyes became so empty, it was frightening. He looked almost dead, like a slightly sad doll sitting on the man's lap, arms and legs jerking as the man fucked him. The dim light made the tears and mucous on his face glisten. His face looked like lifeless plastic.

His expression didn't even change when he came. His body spasmed, his cock spurted in his master's hand and he didn't make a sound.

Draco went on his way. He finally reached the relative safety of the dark hallway where the crack of the whip was louder and more cries could be heard coming from inside various rooms. Some of the doors were open, but Draco could ignore them easily enough. He started down the hall, determined not to look, but a voice he recognised caught his ear. It was coming from a room with an open door. Draco slowly approached, determined to walk right on past and not to look inside, but the light coming from within drew his eye. His father might be in there, he reasoned. He should check before heading on down to the room at the end of the hall, where he knew his father probably was. He should make sure so he wouldn't have to come back and check later.

The room had comfortable-looking chairs and couches lining its walls, all filled with Death Eaters. Everyone was watching what was happening in the centre of the room, everyone except the various naked slaves who were on their knees at their masters' and mistresses' feet.

In the centre of the room were two young men Draco thought he knew. One was tall and black, the other white with sandy hair. They were both naked and huddled together on the floor, their backs to the door. A man Draco knew as Dolohov stood not far from them, leering down at them. It was Dolohov's voice Draco had heard. He was saying something to them now that Draco couldn't quite hear, and then he stepped back and took a seat, smiling sinisterly at them.

The boys turned to each other and their profiles triggered Draco's memory. He definitely knew them. Gryffindors. Potter's dorm mates. The sandy-haired one had a black eye and several bruises on his pale skin. The black boy didn't appear to be too bruised up, but that didn't mean he hadn't been beaten just as badly as the white boy. Draco had learned from these little gatherings that dark skin didn't bruise quite as easily.

The two boys regarded each other with sad, tired eyes. They murmured to each other, which caused someone in the room to yell "Get on with it!" The sandy-haired one seemed to be on the brink of breaking down. There might have been tears on his face, but Draco couldn't tell from where he stood. The black boy embraced him, held him tight, which elicited a few whistles and cheers from the assembled Death Eaters. Of course, a good snuggle wasn't what they'd all gathered there to see. Draco knew what they wanted.

The two boys looked at each other again, whispered to each other some more and nodded at each other. They tentatively moved their faces closer, shutting their eyes and pressing their foreheads together. They nipped lightly at each other's lips and then began kissing, awkwardly at first, but that awkwardness quickly dissolved. Draco understood. He saw it all the time down here. After months of torture, being slapped, punched, beaten, choked and raped, they were finally in the arms of someone who wouldn't hurt them. They were finally being kissed by a mouth that wouldn't suddenly change its mind and bite instead. They were being forced to fuck each other, they had no choice, but it would be one of the few times of relative safety they'd experienced in a long while. Their kiss became more confident, hungry and wet, their hands grabbing and clinging, their faces scrunched up with desperate, aching need. Draco even began to hear them groaning as they lay down together on the cold, hard floor, heard them until the cheering and shouts from their audience drown them out.

The boys would draw this out, make it last. As long as they were enjoying each other, they might not have to deal with anyone else.

Draco moved on. He could still hear the crack of the whip coming from one of the rooms. He drew nearer and nearer to the sound and realised it was coming from his father's personal room. He stopped at the closed door and stood there a moment, wondering what to do. He didn't want to interrupt a session; that was considered very bad etiquette. But he wanted his father. He didn't want to go back through all the screaming and raping and beating, and he certainly didn't want to go back upstairs and face his own failure.

He knocked on the door. The whip cracks ceased.

"Enter," said his father's voice.

Draco's trembling hand touched the door handle, turned it and pushed the door open. This room was more warmly lit than the rest of the dungeon and was much cosier and larger, though not nearly as large as the main chamber. It had wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge four-poster bed and draperies that gave the illusion that there were windows behind them. It looked like a lavishly furnished bedroom, but with chains and leather straps hanging from the ceiling, and Draco knew the drawers and closets were filled with devices of both pleasure and torture.

His father was seated in a cushy armchair watching a private show. A dark-haired, slightly pudgy young man was chained up to a large metal apparatus by his wrists. There was a black collar around his neck with a chain attached that was also attached to the metal frame. His back was to the door and Draco could see harsh, glaring red, diagonal and horizontal slashes up and down his back. Standing next to him was a figure in black with greasy, black hair and a rather large nose. He was holding the whip Draco had been hearing and was eyeing Draco with annoyance.

"Lucius, this is highly irregular," said Severus Snape.

"He's my son, Severus," said Draco's father, smiling coolly at Draco. "Come in and shut the door, Draco."

Draco shut the door and crossed the room to where his father sat. Lucius's hand went immediately up to touch Draco's waist and pull him down to sit on the chair's armrest.

"What brings you down?" Lucius asked, caressing Draco's lower back.

"I wanted to see you, Father," Draco replied quietly.

"Have you finished with Weasley?"

Draco hesitated, knowing he couldn't lie. His father would know if he lied. Draco lowered his gaze and shook his head. He felt Lucius's hand still on his back and then fall away. Draco's heart sank.

"Well," said Lucius, "what are you doing down here, then?"

"He doesn't have it in him," said Snape. Draco glared up at him and found Snape smirking at him. "Might I suggest the boy be sent away during our little gatherings. He looks a bit green, if you ask me. I don't think he has the stomach for this."

"Now, now, Severus," said Lucius. "Watch what you say. This is my son, after all." Lucius looked up at Draco. "What's the problem, Draco?"

"I don't know," Draco muttered, too ashamed to meet his eyes.

"You must have some idea. It's important that you prove yourself, you know."

"I know, Father."

"As a Death Eater, you will be called upon to do far worse than what I'm asking of you. If you can't perform when the Dark Lord demands it, do you have any idea what might happen to you?"

"Yes, Father."

"He's still too mouthy, that one," said Lucius thoughtfully, speaking of Weasley now. "He shouldn't still have so much fire in him, not after all this time. You've got to break him, Draco. Have you told him Granger's been killed?"

Draco looked at him in surprise. "No, I didn't know."

"Oh, yes. Apparently, she was just as difficult to break as Weasley's proving to be. Her mistress was not amused. You might want to mention it to him, it's sure to break what little spirit he's got left. There was something between Weasley and Granger, I'm sure of it."

Draco's eyes drifted away again as he considered this. Then he felt his father's hand on his back again and he looked at him again.

"Draco, you know that I can't give you what you want until you've completed your task."

"I know."

"Perhaps it isn't a desirable enough incentive for you."

"No!" Draco said quickly. "No, that's not it."

Lucius scrutinised him for a moment and then retracted his hand again. "You don't act like it is."

"Father, I want it. I want it more than anything. Please, I..." Draco trailed off as his father's eyes narrowed at him. He knew he was treading thin ice here. His father didn't respond to begging or blatant emotionalism. In fact, Lucius found these things rather disgusting in people who weren't slaves and especially in someone who happened to be his own flesh and blood. Draco shut his mouth.

"Well, you're down here now," said Lucius with a sigh. "You may watch if you like."

Draco didn't particularly want to watch, but he didn't know where else to go at the moment. He turned his attention to Snape and the young man he had chained up. The back of the young man's head looked familiar and Draco tried to remember who Snape's slave was.

"Has the chit-chat portion of evening concluded?" Snape asked.

"Yes, yes, Severus, you may proceed."

"Thank you."

To Draco's great relief, the whip was tossed onto the bed and Snape proceeded to unchain his slave. The black collar and matching wrist cuffs stayed on while the chains were detached from them. The slave was quivering all over and looked like he might hit the floor any second. He managed to remain standing, however, and didn't even reach out to grip the metal frame for support. He stood there with his head lowered, his longish dark hair hiding most of his face from Draco's view. The slashes on his back wept blood. He didn't make a sound.

Snape stepped around to his slave's front, took hold of his chin and tilted his face up. "You did very well, Neville," he murmured. "I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you, Master," replied the slave, and Draco recognised the voice immediately. He wasn't as scrawny as some of the other slaves, but it was apparent that he'd lost quite a bit of weight during his imprisonment. Draco remembered how much bigger he'd been in school.

"Would you like a kiss?" Snape asked. His slave nodded, and if Draco wasn't very much mistaken, it had seemed like a genuinely enthusiastic nod. Snape smiled. "Very well."

The young man tilted his face up more to meet Snape's lips and his hair fell away from his face enough to show Draco his profile. Draco stared, slack-jawed, as Longbottom open his mouth and lapped eagerly at Snape's lips.

They were like lovers, the two of them. It was appalling! And had Snape addressed Longbottom by his first name? Ridiculous! A master should never indulge his slave that way, it was unheard of, and Draco knew of slaves who'd been reassigned because their masters or mistresses had become too attached.

When the kiss finally ended, Longbottom immediately lowered his face again.

"That is quite an exceptional slave you've got," Lucius said.

"I've been very lucky," said Snape, retrieving his wand from his waistband and walking around to Longbottom's back, where he healed all the slashes. "You may move," he said, and Longbottom turned to him and dropped down to the floor without being asked. He sat with his legs folded underneath him and his face still lowered.

"You may look up at me," Snape said. Longbottom immediately did so and Draco saw no sadness, resignation, anger or anything else like that on his face. Instead, Longbottom was intensely focused on Snape and had a sort of alertness about him, an energy sizzling just below his surface, like a dog awaiting instructions. Was this the same person who'd tried to attack Draco in anger in 5th year?

Snape smiled down at Longbottom with satisfaction and gently petted his hair. "He might not be the most attractive, but he's extremely obedient. And, to be honest, his looks do grow on you."

"Indeed," said Lucius, sounding impressed. "May I?"

Snape nodded. "Please. Neville?"

Snape need not have called Longbottom's name to get his attention; he hadn't taken his eyes off Snape once.

"You will do as Lucius says."'

"Yes, Master," Longbottom replied. Snape gestured at Lucius and Longbottom turned and crawled toward him. He sat at Lucius's feet with is face lowered once more.

Lucius sat forward. "Look at me."

Longbottom looked up. His focus was absolute, but there was something different in his eyes, or rather something _missing_. His expression seemed more blank now, not nearly as alive as it had been when focused on Snape. Draco stared in disbelief. Had Longbottom developed feelings for his master?

It happened so quickly, Draco wasn't expecting it and nearly jumped out of his skin. His father slapped Longbottom across the face so hard, Longbottom toppled over and landed on his stomach. He didn't stay down long, however; he gave his head a shake, got back up on his knees and looked up at Lucius expectantly. A little trickle of blood emerged from the corner of his mouth.

"On your feet," Lucius instructed. Both he and Longbottom stood and Lucius wasted no time in connecting his fist with Longbottom's face. Longbottom staggered back and to the side and landed right in his master's arms. He looked dazedly up into Snape's eyes and looked very much like he wanted to stay right where he was, but he straightened up, wiped the blood from his mouth and stepped back over to Lucius. He stood before Lucius looking unsteady and a bit like he was having trouble getting his eyes to focus.

"Well," said Lucius, nodding. "I'm very impressed. He's a pure-blood, isn't he?"

"That he is," agreed Snape.

"My, my." Lucius began to walk a slow circle around Longbottom. Draco watched his father intently and didn't much care for the appraising look on his face as he examined Longbottom from all angles. "Does he obey _all_ orders?"

"Yes. He didn't always, but now he does without hesitation."

Draco knew what that question meant. His father was asking if Longbottom obeyed even orders that forced him to inflict pain or injury on himself or someone else. And the answer was yes, which meant that Longbottom could do what Draco still couldn't. Draco glared at Longbottom, whose eyes looked straight ahead, not taking notice of Draco at all.

"You are quite fortunate," Lucius said as he came back around to Longbottom's front.

"I might be persuaded to let you have full use of him if you so desire."

"Hm." Lucius cocked his head, still staring at Longbottom's face. "I might take you up on that."

Draco's stomach dropped. He knew what "full use" meant. His father was considering taking a slave to bed with him. Draco felt all the colour drain from his face. He felt suddenly short of breath. He lowered his face, unable to watch as his father reached up to touch Longbottom's cheek. His father didn't fuck slaves, not the ones who'd learned to be as willing as Longbottom had. He used them in other ways; beat them, humiliated them, but he reserved the fucking for slaves who didn't comply, which Longbottom most certainly would. Something had changed. Lucius was considering sex with a willing slave and it was Draco's fault, it was because of his continued failure. He couldn't perform the way he was supposed to, so his father had finally given up on him, had finally lost faith in him.

 _Longbottom_. Of all the slaves in the place, his father had to choose _this one_? Not that any other slave would've been any better in Draco's eyes. He still would've felt sick to his stomach no matter who had been chosen.

Draco took a deep breath and forced himself to look up again. He found his father looking back at him. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Lucius turned his face back to Longbottom and kissed him gently on the mouth.

Draco stared at them. He didn't believe what he was seeing. It was something so hurtful, so completely outside of anything he ever wanted or expected to happen, that his mind put up defences, made everything feel dream-like and unreal. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe he could just get up and walk out and wake up.

Draco stood and turned away and headed for the door. He thought he heard someone call him, but he didn't stop. He went right out the door and didn't bother closing it behind him. He saw nothing as he moved out through the cold, dim light of the rest of the dungeon. The sounds were all distant and of no consequence to him. He felt like he was floating as he moved back out into the main chamber. He glimpsed the boy he'd seen earlier being raped by his hooded master. He was on a bed being used by two men at once. He lay on top of one while another knelt behind him. Both men were thrusting into him. Several more men were standing around the bed, watching and waiting their turns. The boy wasn't moving. He lay, limp and lifeless, on top of the man underneath him, his head resting on the man's shoulder, his face against the man's neck. The boy's master, still completely hidden beneath his hood, stood by watching.

Draco barely registered any of this. His mind was still reeling. He walked as quickly as he could toward the door.

He tore through the house and finally found himself back up in his room. Weasley was still there, bound to the bed and now asleep. Draco slammed his door and Weasley jerked awake and glared at him.

"What's your problem?" Weasley asked.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Draco bellowed at him. He fully expected Weasley to argue, to scoff, to smirk and laugh. But something was different this time. Weasley's face went blank and he stared at Draco as though he was a stranger. A very frightening stranger. Draco supposed he didn't sound like his usual self, sounded perhaps a bit frantic and unhinged. Just as well; Weasley finally looked the way a slave ought to.

Draco crossed the room to his closet and retrieved a thick, leather belt from inside. He then headed straight for the bed.

"What're you doing?" Weasley asked in a soft voice. "Malfoy, what –"

"I said shut it!" Draco bent the belt in half, held it by its bent end, and brought it down hard across Weasley's thighs. Weasley cried out as the hard buckle struck him. He opened his mouth to speak but didn't manage to get a word out as the belt came down again and again. Draco beat him mercilessly, moving the belt in a figure 8 motion, _whack, whack, whack_ , over and over in quick succession. He tuned into Weasley's voice, savoured the sound of it screaming, loved the way Weasley's limbs struggled against their restraints. There were tears streaming down the sides of Weasley's face as the belt buckle left big, red welts on his thighs, and the skin was even broken in places. The sight of blood satisfied Draco and he struck Weasley even harder.

Then, abruptly, Draco tossed the belt away from him. He got up on top of Weasley, straddled him, balled up his fist and punched him as hard as he could. Weasley tried to scream, but Draco's fist connected again and again until droplets of blood were flying from Weasley's nose and mouth on each impact. Draco barely felt it. His adrenaline was pumping and he felt like he could have continued punching for some time. The sight of Weasley helpless and in pain was satisfying something inside Draco that he hadn't known was there.

He finally stopped and sat there, breathing hard, watching Weasley, who wasn't moving anymore except for his shallow breathing. His eyes were closed, the skin around them starting to swell, his lips puffy and bloody, his nose bleeding as well. He looked like he might've passed out. Well, Draco could fix that. He was about to reach for his wand in his back pocket but stopped when Weasley spluttered and coughed and opened his eyes.

"What's... what's gotten into you?" Weasley asked in a barely audible whisper.

Draco didn't know what to say for a moment. Images flitted through his mind of his father tenderly kissing Longbottom, of Longbottom taking whatever Lucius threw at him and getting right back up for more, so obedient, so fucking perfect.

His face was threatening to betray his emotions. He composed himself and glared down at his slave. "I've found my motivation," he finally replied. He was up and off Weasley in a second, standing by the bed, looking down at him coldly. He retrieved his wand, pointed it at him and said in barely a whisper, _"Crucio."_

Weasley's body jerked, arched up off the bed and writhed in agony. Draco stared at him with cold detachment. He wondered if he could increase the pain by simply _wanting_ to. He didn't think he could want to inflict pain on Weasley anymore than he already did, but he tried. He held his wand tight, so tight his hand was shaking, and he clenched his teeth and concentrated so hard his head started to hurt. He felt power surging through him as he watched. Weasley deserved it. Neville deserved it. The camera kid getting gang raped deserved it. They all deserved it.

Draco didn't know how many seconds had passed, but when he finally broke the spell, he was panting and felt light-headed. He wasn't sure why he didn't find his blooming erection disturbing. He would've done yesterday. Hell, he would've done barely half an hour ago.

Weasley stilled and went limp, twitching intermittently. Little whimpers escaped him and Draco swore one of those little whimpers sounded suspiciously like a word, like a name. Like "Hermione". He ignored this. He stuck his wand in his back pocket, spun and stalked away from the bed. He opened one of his bureau drawers, rummaged around inside and quickly found the little bottle his father had made sure to give him days ago. It was nothing more than lubricant, but it had always felt so heavy in Draco's hand. It had always made him feel dizzy and shaky and frightened. But not now. Not anymore. He was shaking, but that was more from rage than anything else.

Weasley was still dazed from his beating. He barely reacted as Draco got his legs out of the restraints, spread them wide, pushed them up and back as far as they'd go and secured them that way with magical ropes. He opened his eyes and watched Draco as he worked, as he lubricated himself and positioned himself between Weasley's legs. His gaze was unwavering, he barely blinked. Draco couldn't look at him, couldn't look into those piercing blue eyes, which looked even bluer with all the blood on Weasley's face. He felt like those eyes were looking right into him and seeing that something wasn't quite right, that Draco was doing this for the wrong reasons. Well, Draco supposed Weasley had already known about his reasons. After weeks of imprisonment, he'd picked up on the dynamics between Draco and his father and nothing Draco had said had made him think otherwise. Weasley had taken gleeful pleasure in throwing it in Draco's face every chance he got.

That alone made Weasley deserving of this. Draco hovered above him on all fours, bumping the head of his prick against Weasley's arse. He hesitated and finally forced himself to meet Weasley's accusing stare.

"Are you really going to do this?" Weasley asked. Was he? Was Draco really a rapist? He thought about what was currently happening in the dungeons, the Death Eaters' laughter at all the pain and humiliation they were causing, the limp bodies, exhausted or even unconscious, from abuse. Was that really what Draco was?

No, it wasn't. But if Neville fucking Longbottom could change, could become an obedient and willing servant, when once he'd had a fiery streak of defiance hidden beneath his doughy exterior, and could make even Draco's _own father_ look at him with approval, then Draco could do this. Draco pretty much _had_ to do this. And that made him angrier than almost anything else.

He pushed roughly against Weasley's entrance. The effect was immediate; Weasley scrunched up his face and distress replaced the defiant accusation in his eyes. Draco pushed into him unceremoniously, the tightness of Weasley's hole making his eyes glaze with pleasure. His hips were soon flush with Weasley's body and Weasley began trembling.

"Scream for me," Draco whispered, and he began to move, pulling back and then shoving right back in so hard that Weasley did indeed scream. Every thrust seemed to instil Draco with confidence and malice and determination. His muscles began to ache, but he refused to slow down, and when Weasley's cries began to subside, his body growing accustomed to the assault, Draco took hold of his neck with both hands, using the weight of his body as much as his strength to strangle Weasley. Weasley's eyes popped open, his hands fought against the restraints that bound them and he made desperate little croaking noising as he struggled for air. Draco loved it. His climax was building rapidly and every little sign of pain and distress Weasley displayed caused even more pleasure to shoot through his body.

Draco released Weasley's neck and gripped his hair instead. He brought his face down so they were practically nose to nose and he whispered, "Who am I? Tell me, Weasley, who am I to you?"

He didn't have to elaborate. Weasley knew what he was asking. They'd had this conversation before. Weasley said nothing, however. He stared up at Draco through his tears, the only sounds escaping him being the odd grunt or gasp or sob.

Draco gripped his hair even tighter. "Say it!" he snapped, spittle flying from his mouth and landing across Weasley's blood-stained face.

Weasley still said nothing. Instead he tossed his head from side to side, trying to dislodge Draco's hand, but Draco held fast, grunting hard as his climax drew nearer. He actually loved that Weasley wasn't complying. It gave him reason to be rougher, meaner, more degrading. He spit in Weasley's face.

"SAY IT!" he screamed, and now he was thrusting so hard the entire bed was shaking and banging against the wall. He didn't want to come before Weasley said what Draco wanted him to, but he couldn't hold back any longer. He shuddered and climaxed so hard that he couldn't keep quiet. He pictured his father standing just behind them at the doorway, nodding his approval, getting hard and idly touching himself as he beamed with pride.

By the time his orgasm petered out, Draco had let go of Weasley's hair and had sagged down upon him. Weasley's cries dissolved into little whimpers. Draco withdrew and forced his spent body to push up and off the bed. He looked down at the bloody, quivering mess on his bed, eyes travelling down Weasley's body to his hard cock. Draco smiled to himself at the sight of it. He spelled himself clean, fastened his trousers and then pointed his wand at Weasley. "Look at me," he demanded.

Weasley obeyed. There was no more cockiness in his eyes, only sadness, fear, and maybe even a little disbelief. Draco searched inside himself for the remorse he'd always feared he would feel in this moment, but found nothing. He was too far gone. He'd finally crossed over.

"Say it," Draco repeated. "No good will come of continuing to disobey me."

Weasley licked his bloody lips and whispered, "Proud of yourself?"

Draco ignored this. "Say it and I might let you come."

"I don't want to come."

"Fine. Say it and I won't Crucio you again."

Weasley seemed to consider this. Draco didn't know which he wanted more; for Weasley to do as he was told or for him to continue to refuse so that Draco could torture him more.

In the end, Weasley seemed to decide that it was worth risking more pain, and he turned his eyes away from Draco. Draco was more than ready to administer the Cruciatus Curse again, but he stopped, reconsidered. He opened his mouth, and instead of saying the curse, he uttered two little words.

"Granger's dead."

Weasley looked at him again. "Bullshit."

Draco shook his head. "My father told me when I was downstairs. She angered her mistress and was disposed of."

Weasley's eyes darted. "I don't believe you."

"You want proof?" Draco smiled. "I'm sure we can get you some. We can have them bring whatever's left of her here for you to have a look at."

Weasley said nothing more. Draco watched as his mind worked, as he tried to figure out what to believe, as he struggled with the idea that Granger really was gone. His expression cycled through anger, anguish, sadness and scepticism, over and over. Draco had him. All he had to do was push him over the edge.

 _"Crucio,"_ he said, and Weasley's body began twitching in pain. Draco only let it go on for a few seconds before stopping and murmuring, "She's dead, Weasley. Granger's dead. _Crucio_." He did this again and again, at least six times, until Weasley was sobbing. The sight of him like that, beaten and battered, legs raised, spread open and bound back, his stretched-out hole exposed, was doing things to Draco that he would normally be very unnerved by.

"Say it, Weasley," Draco said, his voice eerily soft. "What am I?"

Weasley took a shaky breath, getting his sobs under control, opened his mouth and finally replied, "You're my master."

A smile touched Draco's lips and something like triumph surged through him. But there'd be time to celebrate later. He kept his composure as he said, "That's right. Now, thank me for raping you."

More tears escaped Weasley's eyes as he whispered, "Thank you for raping me, Master."

"Good. Very good." Draco flicked his wand and released Weasley's legs. They fell like dead weight to the bed. "See what happens when you obey? Now then, you whispered something after I finished beating you. Sounded like a name. What was it? And I warn you, lying will get you nowhere fast."

Weasley looked away from Draco's face, straight up at the ceiling. "Hermione," he said.

"Why did you say the dead Mudblood bitch's name?"

Weasley didn't answer straight away. Draco wondered if he'd have to administer more punishment, but then Weasley replied, "Because I miss her." His expression was rapidly going blank, as though whatever spark had been left inside him had just been snuffed out. His voice had become a slow, dull monotone.

"Were you in love with her?" asked Draco.

"Yes," Weasley replied, and the sadness returned to his eyes. They brimmed with tears that quickly spilled over. Weasley stayed quiet, save for a few sniffles.

"She loved you too?"

"Yes."

"Well, can't say I'm surprised. She couldn't have had terribly high standards. Though I do wonder what she could possibly have seen in you."

Something fierce and simmering crept back into Weasley's eyes, then, and focused on Draco. "You wouldn't know anything about it, would you? She loved me because I stood up for what was right, because she knew she'd _never_ see me bow down to you lot. But what would you know about love? You don't get it. You never did, and now that you've finally become just like your fucked-up father, you never will."

Draco should have been angry, but he was still on a high from what he'd just done. He was about to respond when a low voice called to him from the doorway. He spun around to find his father standing there, leaning against the door jamb, watching him with a soft look in his eyes.

"Father. I didn't know you were... I didn't see you –"

Lucius shook his head to silence him and stepped into the room. He went right up to Draco, took his face in his hands and kissed him.

The world stopped. The wand slipped from Draco's hand. Everything seemed to fall away. There was nothing but this. Finally, after weeks of being denied, Draco had his father's mouth on him again. Draco tried not to appear too eager, but as Lucius's hands moved down to his waist, he couldn't help but move his own hands up and drape his arms around his father's neck.

When Lucius ended the kiss, he pressed his forehead to Draco's and just stood there holding him.

"How long were you standing there?" Draco asked.

"Long enough," Lucius whispered. "I'm so very proud of you, Draco."

Draco's chest filled up with the sweetest, most wonderful ache. He took a shaky breath and replied, "Thank you, Father." He could have cried with joy and relief. He could have burst into tears simply from how shaken he suddenly felt from what he'd just done. He wanted to say a million things at once, he wanted to tell his father he simply wasn't cut out for this, that he couldn't keep doing it, but he knew backing out wasn't an option. He felt the tears coming, but he pushed them down. He looked up at his father, held his nose high in the air and tried to wipe any sign of emotion off his face.

"What about Longbottom?" he asked, making sure his voice didn't betray how badly this subject was affecting him. "Did you..."

Lucius shook his head again. "We'll talk about that later. I believe I have something for you that you've been missing, yes?"

Draco's stomach fluttered with anticipation. "Yes."

"Take care of your slave and then come to the master bedroom. I'll be waiting there for you."

"Yes, Father."

Lucius cupped his face again and smiled down at him. "I'm so proud of you," he repeated, and he gave Draco a soft little kiss on the mouth before pulling away and heading out of the room. Draco looked back down at Weasley, his expression instantly hardening.

"You're lucky," said Weasley quietly. "Lucky to still have someone who loves you that much. Even if it is completely sick."

"Shut it!" Draco snapped. He picked up his wand and cast a quick spell that bound Weasley's ankles to the bed again, legs straight and flat against the mattress like before. Then he looked at Weasley's cock, which had almost completely deflated by now. He pointed his wand at Weasley's crotch and cast a silent spell. Weasley instantly realised what he was doing and didn't like it one bit.

"Please don't," he whimpered, closing his eyes and looking away.

"Why not?" asked Draco. "I think I'm being quite a good master, letting you come."

"I don't want to."

"Why? Hate the idea of receiving pleasure from me?"

"Yes," Weasley replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I don't believe that. Got nice and hard while I fucked you, didn't you?"

Draco's spell was causing Weasley's cock to swell and, Draco knew from experience, making Weasley feel very good. Weasley squirmed and whimpered plaintively, and the more he did, the more he tried to hide his pleasure, the more Draco liked it. Weasley cock finally reached full erectness and began leaking pre-come. Draco squatted down by the bed to have a closer look and saw a glistening liquid bead ooze out and slide down the head and onto Weasley's lower belly. Despite the fact that Draco had just come, the sight of Weasley's arousal was affecting him, making his groin pulse faintly with interest. He straightened up again.

"Beg me," he said, stroking the tip of his wand slowly down the underside of Weasley's shaft. "Beg me to make you come."

"No," Weasley said, and it almost sounded like a grunt as he fought the growing pleasure in his crotch. Draco watched Weasley's length twitch under the touch of his wand.

"Beg me," he repeated. "Or I'll have to Crucio you again."

"Fuck you."

"Come on, _beg_ me." Draco's wand ventured down between Weasley's legs and stroked at his perineum. "Do it, Weasley. Be a good little whore and do as I say."

Weasley was practically shaking now as Draco's spell intensified. Finally he couldn't hide any longer; his hips began to rock, his body arched and his noises became softer, breathier, obviously sexual.

"That's it," Draco crooned. "Show me how much you like it and ask me nicely to let you come."

"Malfoy, please..."

Draco smiled. Weasley was slowly breaking down. Draco's spell increased until Weasley was absolutely writhing. Draco knew that Weasley was teetering on the edge of climax, so Draco held him there, pulling back the intensity a bit and then pushing it back up, trying to drive Weasley mad.

"Oh, god," Weasley whispered. He mouthed these words over and over, his expression pained.

"Five little words, Weasley. Just five tiny little words and I'll let you have the most intense orgasm of your life. Come on. Say it."

Weasley opened his eyes. The lust in them was evident. He licked his lips and, without any hesitation, said, "Please let me come, Master. Please."

Draco smiled again. "Very good." He increased the strength of the spell and watched Weasley's eyes roll up into his head. Weasley's cock spurted hard, strings of come landing all the way up at his neck. Draco couldn't deny that it was quite a wonderful sight, all that pleasure rippling through Weasley's body, hips bucking, limbs fighting the restraints, pearly liquid flying from his dick. When Weasley finally came down, Draco lowered his wand.

"Thank me," Draco demanded.

Weasley barely missed a beat this time. "Thank you, Master," he panted.

Draco grinned. He was terribly pleased with himself. He hadn't felt this good in weeks. Even his anger toward Weasley had dissolved. He flicked his wand at Weasley to clean him up and heal his cuts and bruises, and then stood there, considering his slave for a moment.

"I suppose Granger need only have stayed alive a little while longer to finally see her man bow down to me," he said with a smirk. Weasley didn't respond. "I'm going now. When I return, we'll discuss sleeping arrangements."

Weasley looked at him again. "You're not sending me back to my cell?"

Draco shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. Depends on how obedient you are, doesn't it? We've made a lot of progress today. I'm very pleased." At that, Draco turned and headed for the door.

He went down the long, dark hallway to the softly-lit master bedroom where his father was waiting for him. Lucius had removed his boots, untucked and unbuttoned his shirt and had turned down the bed. He looked up as Draco entered and smiled lovingly at him. Draco shut and locked the door and went right into his father's arms. He practically melted into Lucius as their lips came together.

"What kept you?" Lucius asked when the kiss ended.

"Had a few things to take care of with Weasley."

"The two of you seem to finally be bonding."

"We've made some progress, yes."

Lucius stroked Draco's hair. "I'm so glad."

"Did you really see everything?"

"Yes, I did." Lucius released Draco, stepped back a bit and began unbuttoning his shirt. "You did a wonderful job with him. I knew you had it in you."

Draco was rock-hard again. He shrugged the shirt off when it was finally unbuttoned and blatantly eyed his father's exposed chest as Lucius continued to undress him, moving down to his trousers next.

"Father? May I ask you something?"

"Of course," Lucius whispered as he looked into Draco's eyes and slipped his hand inside Draco's underwear, making Draco shudder. As Lucius stepped closer, Draco tilted his head back to look up into his father's eyes.

"Father," Draco sighed, that hand inside his clothes feeling so good that he lost his train of thought.

"What would you like to ask me?"

Draco tried to make his brain focus. "Longbottom. What did... I mean, I know you said we'd discuss it later, but –"

Lucius shook his head. "I did nothing with him."

Draco blinked at him. "R-really? But I thought –"

"I was impressed with his obedience. But I'm not interested in him as a personal slave."

Draco could have wept with joy. He maintained control of his emotions and nodded. "All right. I was just curious."

Lucius smiled knowingly and began pushing Draco's trousers and pants down. "Were you worried?"

"No," Draco said immediately, not quite meeting Lucius's eyes. He stepped out of the rest of his clothes and stood naked before his father, who took him in his arms again.

"Well, I'm glad," Lucius said. "Because you have nothing to worry about, I promise you that."

"You can be with anyone you choose, Father," Draco insisted. "I wasn't jealous. Longbottom's only a slave." But Draco couldn't forget the image of his father looking at Longbottom with approval, stepping toward him and kissing him as tenderly as he used to kiss Draco. Lucius didn't kiss slaves. Not like that.

"Well, enough about him, yes?" said Lucius. "Tonight is your night."

"Where's Mum? Does she know you're going to be with me?"

"She knows. She's still downstairs. Won't be up for a while."

Lucius kissed Draco as he guided him toward the bed. He lay Draco down and then finished undressing himself. Draco lay there on his back, legs spread, touching himself and staring at his father's body. He shivered with arousal, even as an echo of Weasley's voice saying the word 'sick' sounded in his head over and over again. Fuck him. He was just jealous because his own father was probably dead by now. What Draco had with his dad was beautiful. He wished the whole world could see it.

Finally, Lucius's tall, slender, beautifully pale form was completely exposed. He lay down with Draco, took him in his arms and kissed him possessively. Draco's body yielded, curving submissively into his father's. They kissed deeply for a long while and Draco savoured every second of it, savoured the taste and feel of his father's mouth, of his tongue, of his hands on his body. They rubbed against each other, slowly at first, letting the heat and arousal build, and soon they were rutting wildly against each other, hard grunts and groans escaping them, their skin moist and flushed.

When Lucius put his mouth on Draco's cock, Draco felt as helpless as Weasley had looked writhing on his bed, but in the most wonderful way. He looked down to watch his father suck him, and Lucius looked right up into his eyes as he poked the tip of tongue into Draco's slit, tasting his son's pre-come.

"This is mine," Lucius said in a low voice as he brushed his wet lips against the head of Draco's cock. "No matter what filthy piece of slave shit you stick this inside, it belongs solely to me, doesn't it?"

Draco shivered as waves of pleasure rippled through him. "Yes, Father," he said breathlessly. Lucius smiled with satisfaction and then sucked his son until Draco exploded in his mouth.

Lucius then made Draco turn over and he buried his face between Draco's cheeks. Draco arched his back, lifting his hips up off the bed and pushing his arse right into his father's face. Lucius made the most delicious noises as he feasted on his son, humming and slurping as he licked and poked his tongue into Draco's hole.

Then, without warning, Lucius stopped, hooked an arm around Draco's waist and pulled Draco back against himself. He bit down on Draco's neck, making Draco gasp. Lucius was in no mood to use traditional methods of preparing Draco for sex. He seemed too impatient, too eager to take his son. He prepared Draco with a quick spell and then settled on his back with Draco sitting proudly atop him. Draco guided the head of his father's prick into his entrance and slowly lowered himself down the shaft. He dropped his head back and moaned at the ceiling as his father filled him up.

Draco began to ride, slowly at first, rolling his hips in time with his upward and downward movements. His father was watching him, and Draco loved it, loved they way his father's eyes drank him in, seeming to lust after him even now, even though he was already inside him.

Draco picked up speed until he was bouncing. Lucius gripped his waist and murmured words of encouragement and love, and finally Draco went down to him, laid on top of him and latched onto his mouth. Lucius wrapped his arms around him, held him tight, and began thrusting up into him. He then rolled them over, settled on top of Draco and resumed thrusting.

"Harder," Draco gasped. He shut his eyes and groaned as Lucius began pounding into him hard. He felt Lucius's hand gently brush his fringe off his sweaty forehead and then caress down his cheek. He leaned his face into the touch.

"I love you, Draco," Lucius whispered shakily.

"I love you, Father," Draco replied as he clawed at Lucius's sweaty back.

"Love you so much."

"Daddy," Draco growled, and then he dissolved into meaningless grunts as Lucius fucked him mercilessly. Lucius brushed his lips and tongue down Draco's moist throat and began sucking on his neck. He reached up, gripped Draco's jaw and roughly turned his face away, giving himself more room to suck and bite and leave marks of ownership. He bit so hard that Draco cried out in pain, but Draco loved it. Bruises would be left behind and he would wear them proudly.

It had been far too long since Draco's body had felt this incredible and he screamed just from sheer pleasure, digging his nails into Lucius's back, determined to leave marks of his own. He could hear his father growling as he chewed and sucked Draco's abused skin. Draco felt as though there was a bubble of heat surrounding them, that their passion had created its own little force field and was becoming more and more intense by the second, growing hotter, more concentrated, pressing in on them, and just when Draco thought the intensity couldn't get any stronger, Lucius finally climaxed with a hard groan and quivering muscles, his fingers bruising Draco's jaw. His thrusts lost their rhythm, and Draco's cries became nothing more than soft sighs as his father's seed spilled into him.

 

* * *

Draco left the master bedroom reluctantly. He wanted to stay, to sleep there with his father, but he knew he couldn't. His mother would probably come upstairs soon, and as accepting as she was of his relationship with his father, her walking in on them would still be awkward as hell.

So Draco, bruised and wonderfully sore, pulled on his trousers and opted to carry the rest of his clothes in his arms. He slipped out of the room, into the dim hallway, and to his dismay saw his mother approaching from the other end. The long, black, empire-waisted dress she wore seemed to have acquired a small rip just under the bust and her hair was slightly dishevelled. Draco tried not to imagine all the ways she could have gotten into this state. She puffed casually on a cigarette as she glided toward him.

"Hello, Draco," she said, her voice low, grey clouds of smoke swirling from her mouth and nose.

"Mother," said Draco, stopping before her and trying not to look too guilty. He knew what he looked like. He'd had a good look at himself in a mirror before leaving the bedroom. His hair was all over the place, there were faint fingerprint-bruises along his jaw and the bruises on his neck where Lucius had sucked and bitten were purpling nicely now around the little teeth-shaped breaks in his skin.

His mother surveyed him with a faint, knowing smile, eyes darting from bruise to bruise, up to his hair and then down to his bare chest.

"So," she said, "I guess you finally did what you were supposed to."

"Yes, Mother."

She puffed on her cigarette and nodded with approval as she blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth. "Good boy. Your father was so worried about you, about what might happen if you didn't manage to get to this stage. I told him you'd do it eventually, but he just wouldn't stop fretting. Rather annoying, actually."

Draco wasn't sure whether to be happy that his father had been so worried about him or upset that he clearly hadn't thought Draco would be able to do it. "He didn't believe I could do it, did he?"

"He had his doubts. That's how he got that idea to mess about with Severus's slave." She took a drag off her cigarette. "I'm rather glad he didn't have to go through with it, to be honest. Longbottom might be an exceptional slave, but he's hardly what one would call attractive, is he?"

Draco frowned. "What?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, you don't know? He was going to take that Longbottom boy to bed with him." She rolled her eyes. "I told him that you'd see right through that, but he insisted. And he also insisted that it absolutely _had_ to be Longbottom for some strange reason he never bothered to divulge to me. But that doesn't matter now, because you've done it." She smiled her lazy smile at him and gave him a little pat on the arm, quickly retracting her hand after two pats and tucking it beneath her opposite arm. "We're so relieved, Draco. You know what might happen to you if the Dark Lord calls upon you and you can't perform."

Draco was still frowning. "Right. He... he did that on purpose just to push me?"

"Did what, love?"

"He... Never mind."

"Do you think Weasley is ready for the collar? Have you broken him yet?"

"I'm not sure," Draco said distractedly. "I haven't seen him since my first success with him earlier tonight."

"Well, it's been long enough. He ought to have broken by now, it's been months. No way his will is that strong. Run along, love, go check on him. Kisses." She turned her cheek up to him, and he obediently leaned over and kissed it. She went on her way down the hall to the master bedroom, leaving Draco standing there in the dark. There was nothing but silence, and Draco realised that all their guests must have departed by now.

Draco stepped into his bedroom. Weasley was right where he'd been left, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Thought you might've fallen asleep," said Draco as he shut the door behind him and went across to the closet.

"No," said Weasley.

"No _what_?" Draco said over his shoulder.

"No, Master," Weasley corrected himself with absolutely no conviction in his voice.

Draco pulled on a t-shirt as he turned and walked toward the bed. "Mother wants to know if I've broken you yet."

Weasley only stared up at him.

"You seem to be losing that pesky independent will of yours, but I'm not sure I trust you yet."

Weasley's eyes drifted away to stare at the ceiling again. "I just don't want to get Crucioed again."

"Yes, well, considering the progress I've made with you tonight, I'm going to be expected to have you ready for the next gathering."

"I'm afraid of you. You've done it, Malfoy, you've got me shaking in my restraints. Isn't that enough?"

Draco sighed. No, of course that wasn't enough, but he didn't really expect Weasley to realise that. Draco thought of Longbottom again; the ultimate slave. _That_ was what every mistress and master aspired to. Weasley had no idea.

He took out his wand, pointed it at Weasley and released the restraints as he stepped back from the bed. Weasley looked over at him uncertainly and then drew his arms down close to his body to examine his hands as though he didn't quite believe they'd been released.

"Sit up," said Draco. "And then stand."

Weasley eyed Draco warily, but did as he was told. He slowly sat up and then stood, wincing at his sore muscles and wobbling a bit on his feet.

"Get down on your knees," said Draco, and Weasley obeyed. Draco approached with caution. "You're awfully quiet."

"What would you like me to say? Master."

Draco frowned at that little pause before the 'master', but continued to approach. "Nothing. You're just not as mouthy as before. I'm certainly not complaining, it's just unusual." He came to a halt before Weasley and said, "Look up at me."

Weasley raised his face. Draco searched his eyes for a moment, searching for whatever broken, desperate-to-please, slightly lovesick thing he'd seen in Longbottom's eyes. No, there was nothing. Not yet. Weasley's eyes were mostly blank, but there was still that hint of resignation floating around in there that had appeared just after Draco had finished with him earlier. This was a good sign.

"The dungeons are empty," said Draco. "Everyone's gone home."

"Are you sending me back to my cell, Master?"

Oh, there was definitely a hint of contempt in Weasley's voice. Draco was going to have to beat that out of him, and he knew he could do it now.

"No," Draco said with a sigh. "But we are going down there. It's going to be a long night, Weasley."

 

* * *

Draco hadn't quite been able to get Ron ready for the following weekend, but the progress he had made bought him enough time to get things right. He'd been able to demonstrate his power over Ron, which kept his father happy, and that was Draco's biggest concern. Longbottom was still a huge threat. Even though Lucius had said he had no interest in Longbottom, he still seemed very impressed with him. Draco was fully aware that he was probably only showing his approval of Longbottom to push Draco, but it didn't matter. His father was fully capable of taking Longbottom to bed with him, and Draco was not about to let that happen. Draco worked diligently with Ron, and now the time had come to prove himself.

Draco was extremely nervous on the night of his performance, but he kept his nerves hidden as best he could. He strode into the dungeons with Ron on his heels, being led on a leash attached to a black, leather collar. Ron was naked and barefoot and his hair was just long enough to hide his eyes when his face was lowered, which it was now. There was nothing restraining his hands; they'd long since stopped needing to do that.

Draco entered the large main room of the dungeon with his nose in the air. The room was full; chairs lined the walls and each was occupied. Slaves, both naked and semi-clothed, sat quietly at their masters' and mistresses' feet, some with black cloth bags over their heads, some attached to leashes, like Ron, while others weren't restrained by anything.

Longbottom wore a collar, but no leash, and he was the most clothed of any of the slaves there. Snape had allowed him actual trousers. They were thin, drawstring trousers that couldn't have offered Longbottom's arse and knees much comfort, but still; most slaves who were allowed clothes were only allowed the smallest of undergarments. Snape was seated with one leg crossed over the other, looking rather regal and smug, and there was Longbottom, on his knees at Snape's feet. He looked healthy and rather content, if a little blank in the eyes and somewhat jumpy. He barely looked like a slave at all. If it weren't for the collar and the fact he was seated on the floor, Draco wouldn't have even known he belonged to someone. Draco shook his head. It was disgusting how indulgent Snape obviously was with him.

The Dark Lord was there. He didn't turn up often, but sometimes circumstances demanded it. In this case, the circumstance was Draco. The Dark Lord had to make sure all his followers were up to snuff. He sat in a cushy, velvet chair with his naked slave seated on the floor at his feet. There was a bag over the slave's head, so Draco couldn't tell who it was. He wondered if it was Potter. What little pubic hair was left at the slave's crotch could have been black, but it also could have been dark brown, Draco couldn't tell. Draco was thankful that most of the Dark Lord's ghastly visage was hidden beneath a large hood, though the lower part of his face was still visible. The large hood tilted slightly to the side as Draco and Ron entered.

Draco's mother and father were there, seated together and showing no emotion as they watched him. Draco knew they were trying to appear detached, as though the outcome of this didn't matter, figuring the less they appeared to care, the easier Draco's punishment would be if he failed. Draco played along and tried not to look at them too much.

He and Ron stopped in the centre of the room and Draco began. He unfastened the collar, dropped it and the leash to the floor, and immediately struck Ron with the back of his hand. Ron staggered, but didn't fall. He quickly righted himself and took his place before Draco.

"First position," Draco instructed, and Ron went down onto his knees with his head lowered. "Second." Ron tilted his face up and met Draco's eyes, his own eyes blank. Draco put a hand to one of his cheeks and gently stroked. "Good boy," he whispered, and something flickered in Ron's eyes, something eager and needy. Draco had seen this happen many times over the course of the last few weeks. It usually happened when Ron received a gentle touch from Draco, or at least the promise of one. Ron had begun to crave touch, and it appeared that actually being touched in a gentle way had triggered the cravings, because Draco had certainly never noticed this in Ron before. Before Draco had first succeeded in taking Ron against his will, before he'd succeeded in beating him, Ron had been defiant and angry and had been punished for it regularly. After he'd been cowed, he'd begun receiving little rewards, a stroke of his hair here, a quick handjob there. And Draco was certain that something inside Ron had remembered that it craved touch. That was the only weapon Draco had needed and the only motivation that worked for Ron. After that, it had been smooth sailing.

Draco struck him again, this time harder and with a closed fist, and this time Ron went down, scraping his left knee and elbow on the hard, cold dungeon floor. Draco didn't need to tell him to get back up. Ron shook his head and promptly got back up on his knees before Draco. There was a small trickle of blood sliding from his right nostril.

Draco continued his demonstration, practically forgetting he even had an audience. It was just him and Ron, just like all those sessions down here training and practising as Draco had made sure to smack every single ounce of defiance out of his slave. The two of them moved almost like a unit, like a couple performing a kind of perverted dance. Ron knew Draco's moves, anticipated them, but he didn't flinch and he didn't try to shield himself. Each time he turned his face up to Draco, he was reaffirming his trust in his master. And the fact that Draco didn't even have his wand in his hand was his declaration of trust in his slave. Draco hoped the Dark Lord was taking note of all of this, of every little nuance. Draco had accomplished much that many twice his age hadn't been able to.

The grand finale had Ron on his back on the floor with Draco kneeling by his side, hands gripping his throat. Draco squeezed and squeezed, incrementally increasing the strength of his grip, allowing Ron a bit of breath at first and only gradually cutting it off to keep him from passing out. Ron squirmed, but didn't try to get away. He put his hands on Draco's, but his touch was soft, caressing up and down Draco arms. Draco glanced back and saw that Ron had a full erection that was leaking and twitching. He smiled to himself. He'd trained Ron well.

And just when Draco's grip reached maximum strength, Ron reached climax, spurting come all over his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut and he came in silence, unable to make any sounds. Draco slowly eased up on the choking, loosening his grip. He was breathing hard, his face was flushed, he was shaking a little, and he was very hard inside his trousers. Draco supposed, in a way, Ron had trained him pretty well too.

He released Ron's neck as Ron's orgasm subsided. Ron gasped for air and his entire body relaxed. He looked up at Draco with dazed eyes. Draco stroked his face and murmured, "Very good. You did very good."

"Thank you, Master," Ron whispered, and all his defences came crashing down. Everything he felt became visible in his eyes, all of the need, all of the desperation. Draco would normally allow some extended touching as a reward for such a good performance, but that wasn't advisable in front of this audience. Draco allowed Ron to nuzzle at his hand for a moment, but then pulled away, stood and quickly spelled the come and blood from Ron's body.

"First position," Draco instructed. Ron was up on and on his knees at Draco's side, with his face lowered, in seconds. Draco looked up at his audience, finally remembering they were there, and gave a little nod of his head to indicate that he was finished. Applause broke out and faces beamed, but no one beamed quite as brightly as his father, who looked directly into Draco's eyes and clapped louder than anyone else in the room. His mother was smiling as well, and Draco could see something genuine in her eyes that he'd never seen there before, something loving and proud, all her distant coldness gone. Her eyes glistened and she dabbed discreetly at them, and Draco understood that those were not tears of pride, but of relief. Draco had proven himself. He would be safe. She'd been more worried than she'd let on.

The Dark Lord stood and lowered his hood. Draco tried not to shudder at the sight of him. He spoke, saying exactly what Draco already knew, that Draco had earned his place among the other Death Eaters. There was more applause when the speech ended. Lucius stood first and everyone else followed suit. Draco stood tall and basked, bowing his head graciously at everyone.

The applause died and everyone began milling about, some approaching Draco to shake his hand and welcome him into the fold. Ron was allowed to stand, but keep his face down, and Draco reattached his collar and leash. Some even eyed Ron appreciatively and commented on his obedience. Draco's chest swelled with each compliment. Draco's parents stood by him, shaking hands and chatting idly, expressing their pride in their son.

Then Snape approached with Longbottom in tow. He looked coolly down his nose at Draco and gave him a single nod of his head.

"Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy," he said.

Draco nodded back. "Thank you."

Snape eyed Ron with mild interest. "I never imagined anyone would be able to get this one to comply like that."

"It's all in the technique," said Draco confidently.

"Indeed. Tell me, do you still scoff at the idea of affection between slave and master?" Snape arched an eyebrow, his black eyes glittering with torchlight.

"I don't know what you mean."

"It was obvious, Draco. All those weeks ago, when you sat in on my demonstration with Neville, you couldn't have looked more aghast at my treatment of him."

Draco hadn't been aware that his feelings had been so obvious. He remained calm and detached as he replied. "Well, it is highly inadvisable. Although, yes, offerings of affection can be an excellent tool in training, _genuine_ affection should always be discouraged."

"I see. Nothing going on between you and Weasley, then, is there?"

"No, of course not."

"I'm sure." Snape glanced around. "Ah, there's Dolohov. If you'll excuse me." At that, Snape turned and departed. Longbottom trotted after him. Draco watched them go, eyeing Longbottom's back with disgust. Finally he turned and led Ron away to a quiet corner.

"There's been quite a bit of interest in you, Ron," he said quietly. "I have a feeling you're going to become very popular."

Ron kept his head down as he asked, "Will you let others use me, Master?"

Draco sighed. "I don't particularly want to, but I'm going to have to from time to time. It won't look right otherwise."

"Yes, Master."

"Look at me."

Ron raised his eyes to Draco's face.

"You did exceptionally well tonight."

A smile flickered across Ron's face. "Thank you, Master."

"Keep this up, I might let you sleep in my bed tonight."

The smile intensified. "Thank you, Master."

Draco nodded at him. "Down. Second position."

Ron dropped to his knees at Draco's feet and looked up at him expectantly. Draco smiled down at him and brushed the backs of his fingers against Ron's cheek.

"Go on," said Draco. "You can touch."

Ron immediately closed his eyes and leaned into Draco's touch. He brought his hands up and took hold of Draco's hand, pressed it more firmly against his face. He looked positively rapturous as he cuddled and smelled Draco's fingers. He opened his eyes again and looked up at Draco.

"Thank you, Master," he repeated.

"Thank you too," Draco murmured. "You're such a good slave. Without you, I might've been in some serious trouble today."

Draco leaned back against the wall and just let Ron savour his skin. He looked up and around the room to ensure that no one watching too closely and locked eyes with Snape. A corner of Snape's mouth curled upward, and then he turned away and disappeared into the crowd. One word from Snape and Draco could be in danger of being assigned a new slave. He shouldn't have cared, but he did.

He looked down at Ron again. "We don't have to stay down here, you know," he murmured. "We could go up to my room. I'll let you see my body. I'll let you suck my cock, I might even fuck you."

Ron practically quivered with need, his blue eyes latching onto Draco's face. "I would like that very much, Master."

"I know you would. Come, up." Draco tugged on Ron's leash and Ron rose to his feet. They were making their way through the crowd when something caught Draco's eye and he stopped walking; a girl, naked but for the cuffs that bound her wrists together and a collar attached to a leash. She must've been wearing a bag over her before, because Draco would've remembered seeing her. Her bushy, brown hair had been cut short, only a few inches of it remaining. She was alive after all. Draco wondered if his father had lied or had simply been given false information.

She was standing by her mistress's side with her head down, but then something made her look up and she locked eyes with Draco. Her eyes didn't stay on him for long, almost immediately darting up to Ron's face. Draco glanced back at Ron, who was watching him questioningly.

"Is something wrong, Master?" he whispered.

Draco considered what to do here. They could continue on their way and Ron would never know that he'd been lied to.

Or...

Draco nodded in Hermione's direction. "Look."

Ron obeyed. Draco watched his face, glancing briefly at Hermione to ensure she was still watching them. Hermione's expression was blank, but hardened. She stared at Ron as though he was a stranger who had offended her in some way. Draco supposed seeing the man she'd once loved looking with adoring eyes at the person who was humiliating him in front of a crowd of people was a bit upsetting. Clearly, Hermione hadn't given in the way Ron had; the cuffs spoke to that.

Draco looked back up at Ron's face, searched for recognition. Ron's brow furrowed ever so slightly and something like sadness flickered in his eyes, but then Ron lowered his face and asked, "Is there something you wanted me to see, Master?"

Draco cocked his head. "You see nothing familiar over there?"

"No, sir."

Interesting. Ron had recognised Hermione, Draco was certain. When he glanced at Hermione again, she'd turned away.

"Nothing in this room you'd like to... revisit?" asked Draco.

"No, sir."

When Draco said nothing and didn't move, Ron cautiously raised his eyes to look at him. "Is something wrong, sir?"

Draco smiled, he couldn't help it. He was proud of his slave and even prouder of himself. He turned to face Ron completely, stood close and looked up into his eyes. "Very good," he said. "Very, very good. You're going to get a good, hard fuck when we get upstairs."

Ron's face crumbled with anguish. His eyes brimmed with tears, he took a shaky breath and whispered, "Thank you, Master," as he dissolved into sobs.

Draco didn't know if this emotion was from seeing the woman he loved still alive and looking at him like he was shit on the pavement or if it was something else. It was probably a culmination of a lot of things. Draco resisted the urge to reach up and wipe his tears.

"It's okay, Ron," he cooed. "Come on upstairs. Master will give you what you need."

Draco turned and headed out of the room, tugging Ron along with his leash.

END


End file.
